You're a Masochist for Falling for Me
by Morgana's Cat
Summary: Season 5 AU. Written by request. Mary realizes she doesn't love Tony one night into their Liverpool escapade, but will running into Tom that same night change her plans for the future? Every man who falls for her ends up hurt- can she risk hurting another on the chance of finally achieving happiness?
1. Chapter 1: Leaving

**Disclaimer:** I do not presume to own Downton Abbey by writing this fanfic.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'm afraid that all other stories will be on hiatus for a while as I write_ "You're a Masochist for Falling for Me", _because it was a requested story. Nevertheless, I fully intend to get back to the others as soon as this one is completed. xoxo. Title is a reference to Ingrid Michaelson's "_Masochist". _

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><p>Mary woke up at midnight in an unfamiliar Liverpool hotel room. Gritty streetlights shone through the elegant windows, creating an antagonistic contrast between the town and the small heaven Tony tried to build for her—between the person she had developed into and her twisted past. Sitting up in the bed, she drew her bathrobe tighter as she looked down at his sleeping face. She breathed in, attempting to sort out her feelings towards this man she shared her bed with, and could not find any feeling at all. A chilly hand seemed to grasp at her throat as realization crept up her spine. Cold, cold. Tony had made her laugh and his romantic overtures were undeniably charming, but as she looked at him after a disappointing night—she did not love him. They could have been perfect, Mama and Papa would have been pleased, and she would have someone for her own again. No. Emptiness settled over her, and a single tear trailed down her cheek in mourning for a could-have-been. He looked so vulnerable asleep, and Mary felt a twinge for breaking his heart. But she couldn't stay with him out of pity. So, with a shudder at the image of his weeping face once she broke the news to him, Mary crept out of bed. Dressing quickly, she stuffed her things into a bag and stepped into the hall. The door closed with a quiet click. She didn't look back.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: What are you doing here?

"Yes, I'd like to check out." Mary said cooly, gripping her bag securely in her hand.

"But madam! It's the middle of the night!" The clerk stuttered in confusion.

Mary inwardly rolled her eyes. "I am aware of the fact. I would like to check out."

The clerk's mouth opened again, as if to continue his protest, but was interrupted by a man's approach to the desk.

"What seems to be the problem?" A deep, clearly Irish voice inquired casually from behind Mary.

"Tom!" She whirled around, face paling slightly. What would he be doing here? A vague feeling of something akin to embarrassment itched though her. "I didn't know you were going to travel this week."

He smiled at her, but his eyes ran over her worriedly, studying her bedraggled hair and wrinkled dress. "I didn't either. I needed to talk to a man about a new breed of sheep, but Lady Portsmith rang and said I ought to come here instead." He intoned shrewdly.

"Did she?" Mary raised an eyebrow. Does this mean he knows, then? It was over now though, she had moved on. But Mary was still in a state of chilly emptiness. After the disappointing realization she had just suffered, she found the need to tell someone, and Tom had arrived most opportunely. Perhaps…

"Why don't we go have tea somewhere." She said imperatively.

He nodded. "Why don't we? Then we can talk." His gaze searched her face, and she opened her expression of annoyance and disappointment to him for a moment before icing over again. "Is there anything open this time of night?" He directed at the bewildered clerk.

"Only a pub down the street, sir. Does madam still wish to check out?" He glanced between the pair.

Tom answered for her. "Yes, she does. We'll be leaving now, thank you." Taking Mary by the arm, he escorted her out of the hotel, each grasping their own bag, and each with a slight hint of relieved concern tucked away behind expressionless masks.


	3. Chapter 3: The Pub

The pub was quiet and dark, empty but for a few sleepy old men bowed over the bar. Tom kept a hand on Mary's back as they seated themselves at a small table tucked in a smoky corner, and soon an ancient man dreamily brought them tea in beer mugs, his gaze glazed over in incognizance. At his retreat back behind the bar, Tom took the opportunity to move closer to Mary.

"I knew it wasn't a painting trip from the beginning, if you're wondering." He whispered amusedly.

The corners of her mouth twitched up slightly. Tom always was the one to read her. "And did Lady Portsmith just confirm the subject?" She ought to remember to never trust her with a secret again.

Tom shook his head. "No. Actually, I called her."

Mary glanced up, startled. "Why?"

"I'll never stop you from doing what you want with whomever you want- let me say that right now." He squeezed her elbow. "But I thought you should know something I just found out about Tony before…"

"Before I do what I just did." Mary said plainly. So he had guessed.

"Yes." His eyes twinkled ruefully. "Too late for that. But you still should know."

Mary surprised herself by caring, even a little bit. "But before you tell me, and you still must tell me, there's something I must admit."

His expression requested she elaborate. "I've realized… I don't love him." She took a sip of slightly-beer-flavored-tea while waiting for his response, letting the drink warm her.

"Good, because that makes what I'll be telling you simpler. He doesn't love you either."

All pity for Tony's heartbreak instantly vanished. She set down the mug with a sharp clack. Didn't love her either? He was always a bit too romantic to actually be realistic, but still… "How did you find that out?"

"An old friend of mine met with Miss Fox a few days ago, and putting together his story with a slight suspicion Bates had, well- he's run out of money and has about lost his estate, and he could use a wife too. He liked you and saw that the estate was running pleasantly, and so he-"

"And so he instigated this trip in order to hopefully speed along wedding plans." Mary nodded sagely. "I suppose I should have expected it, but thankfully it's no loss on my part. I do have a decision to make now, though," she smirked.

"And what's that?" He asked.

"Shall I ignore him, or throw his own dirt back into his face?" After all, even if she didn't care for Tony, it still was offensive. Humph.

Tom's gaze was harsh. "His actions were abominable. Do what you want and I'll be behind you with everything I've got. Are you alright, though?" He softened into concern, and her chilly heart warmed in it.

"I am." She patted his hand, and they left the pub arm-in-arm.


	4. Chapter 4: A Hotel

"It's too late to catch a decent train," Tom said, leading Mary quickly through the deserted streets. "So would you like to get a different hotel, or just meander around till dawn?"

She laughed weakly. "You don't even have to ask. Let's get a hotel. Preferably one that doesn't ask inconvenient questions."

He grinned. "It'll be a seedy one then. I hope you're prepared, _my lady._" He squeezed her arm.

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you know me. Always up for an adventure."

They continued down the narrowing street for some time before approaching a dimly-lit, vaguely grubby hotel. Mary's nose crinkled upon seeing its smoky exterior, but resignedly accompanied Tom through its dark doorway.

He tapped a bell sharply at the desk, awakening the drowsy employee. "How many rooms do you have available?" he inquired gruffly, tilting his hat to obscure his face, and Mary mirrored him, drawing her scarf across her nose and mouth, disguising her personage.

"Just the one. It's been a busy night." The clerk leered.

Tom protectively moved his hand from Mary's arm to her waist. Her heart fluttered mysteriously in her chest for a millisecond. "I'll take it. How much?"

The man grabbed a key from the desk and stretched out a grimy hand. "Two pounds. Top floor, room twelve. Be out by ten."

Tom silently made the exchange and the pair rushed up the stairs, leaving the clerk to his nap.


	5. Chapter 5: Their Room

"I suppose I'll thank you for that." Mary whispered as the pair headed up the stairs, scarf still clutched over her face.

"It's only for a night anyway, and I'll sleep on the floor. Besides all that, in a place like this it's probably safer to share a room." Tom's hand stayed on her back as they hurried along.

"Certainly," Mary replied, "but I don't mind sharing the bed. After my little escapade this evening I'm quite comfortable with it." She smirked.

A quiet laugh rumbled in Tom's chest. "I'm sure you are." He threw her a wink before walking up to their room. "Here we go. Number twelve." He handed her his suitcase as he slid the key in the lock.

"Home dingy home." Mary remarked snidely as they entered the room in all its moth-eaten glory. She delicately set the cases down on a rough chair in the corner and turned about to survey the rest of her surroundings. The wallpaper was downright awful, a moldy gray tearing in some places, and a dim light flickered in through the stained windows, half-covered by a pair of disgusting drapes. The bed looked decently clean, however, and Mary noted the fresh pitcher of water on a small table next to it.

Tom locked the door with a click and came to stand next to her, placing his hat on the table. With a start, Mary recalled that they were finally truly alone, and eased off her own hat and scarf.

"So here we are." Mary gave Tom a sideways glance. "Be a darling and help me out of my coat?"

Tom silently did so, and then removed his own, laying both on top of their luggage. "Shall we just sleep in our clothes, then?"

"I'm not about to let my new nightgown touch that mattress! We'll have to leave in a hurry anyway. Do you think we'll wake up on time?" Mary said, drawing the sheets back and slipping out of her shoes and under the covers.

"I suppose we'll just have to find out," Tom joined her in bed, deftly removing his tie. Mary laid back against the pillows and watched him before bursting out in an abrupt laugh. "What is it?" he raised an eyebrow.

"If Granny could see us now!" she giggled, snuggling deeper under the blankets.

"Dear Lord." Tom said dryly, stretching out beside her. "I don't even want to think about her response!"

"Neither do I! Actually, I thi- ouch!" Mary sat up sharply, a hand fumbling with her hair.

"What is it?" Tom reached out for her. "Shall I light one of these oil lamps?"

"No, no," she reassured him. "I simply forgot to take out my hairpins!"

He laughed. "I can fix that. Here," he pulled her around and began fumbling with her hair, steadily finding and removing her pins without scratching her scalp.

"You're quite proficient at this, Tom." Mary remarked, her voice breaking their comfortable, yet overly-familiar, silence.

His voice came out strained. "Sybil used to wear her hair similarly, when we were still in Ireland and before she had it cut. I liked it best this way, but we didn't have a maid, so I did it." A wave of sadness washed over them both.

Mary turned around to face him, locks falling down about her shoulders. A few pins remained in her hair, but she ignored them in favor of observing her brother-in-law. The light from the street had grown dimmer, and she barely made out his pained features. His hands sat listlessly on her crossed knees, and the handful of pins scattered on the sheets between them reflected the slight glimmer of a tear on his cheek. Mary's day clothes seemed to tighten around her, constraining her within the small about of propriety she still bothered to conform to. "Oh, Tom…" she bit her lip. "I miss her too." she murmured weakly.

Tom did not reply, but simply sat, his gaze focused painfully on the hairpins resting like scars upon the sheets. She reached up a shaking hand to wipe away the tear below his eye. As the wet drop slid down her fingertip, her barriers cracked- here she sat, in a grotto of a hotel room, sharing it, unmarried, with a man, after spending the evening doing unspeakable thinks with another. How could comforting him make one jot of difference in the scandalous affairs of the past night? It didn't. So she took a breath of air, courageously pulling Tom into a comforting, etiquette-smashing embrace.


	6. Chapter 6: The Next Morning

They shared a copious amount of tears that night… but it didn't change anything, not really. Emotional barriers were only one thing—a very large thing coming from Mary, but one thing all the same. It would take more than _one_ sentimental confessional to reveal the entirety of either's secrets, but nevertheless, that night meant something, and they both felt it.

Said revelation became apparent to Mary upon awakening at dawn the next morning to Tom gently shaking her shoulder. Without opening her eyes, she attempted to languidly stretch out her arms, but ended up punching him in the jaw instead.

His teeth snapped together and he pulled backward, crying out an indignant "Mary!" around a bloodied tongue. Her eyes immediately snapped open to finally witness their compromising position. She was sprawled across his chest, dress hitched up around her waist and blankets molded into a cave around them. He was squashed in the cavern between two pillows, barely able to move because of her weight, and she noted his shirt was stained with both his own tears and the damp tracks of her eyeliner. Apparently, they had fallen asleep, exhausted by their shared grief. A poking at her hip indicated that the hairpins that started the entire fiasco had never been properly disposed of, and she was sure her skin was just as bloodied as his tongue. Wait! His tongue!

"Oh, gracious! Tom, I'm so sorry!" she lifted herself off of him and scrambled around his person for a handkerchief.

"'S alright," he grunted, pushing himself into a sitting position. Mary knelt beside him, knees sinking into the mattress, and awkwardly dabbed at his lower lip.

"This would be easier if you stuck your tongue out, you know." She said sarcastically, attempting to be as casual as possible.

He rolled his sleep-laden eyes but did so, and she proceeded to dab off the worst of the blood, tossing the handkerchief to the floor afterward. "Is that better?" she asked worriedly.

"Thanks." Tom rubbed at his forehead. "I'm sorry for startling you."

Mary waved him off and slid off the bed, straightening her skirt. "Nonsense. Let's just forget it, _alright?_" she said, deliberately making no mention of their previous sentimentality, and uncomfortably avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, and, scooping up the hairpins, came to stand behind her. "Here. I'll fix your hair and then we can get going."

"Oh, alright," Mary murmured, running her fingers quickly through her hair, "although this is a bit odd."

"You're telling me." Tom chucked, hands working quickly, smoothing her hair back up into a simple twist. Mary practically purred from the feeling but somehow managed to keep her expression neutral.

"Poor Anna." She muttered in an attempt to distract herself from _very inappropriate_ (even for her) _thoughts_.

"What?" Tom tugged at a loose section, forcing back memories of doing the exact same thing to a very similar head.

Mary smirked, though he couldn't see it. "You're giving her a run for her money."

"Don't say that until you see it!" he warned, gently pushing one more pin into her hair. "There you are. Ready to go?"

"Seeing as there's no mirror, I don't think I'll ever be able to see it," Mary said. "So it's up to you to tell me. How do I look?" she turned to face him.

Tom grinned upon seeing her face. "Here," he licked a thumb and smoothed it across her forehead, tucking a flyway hair being her ear. "Now you look lovely." His eyes flicked down from where they were focused on her forehead to stare deeply into her own. Mary's breath caught at the intensity.

"Lovely? What a testimonial, especially when said to a woman wearing yesterday's clothes." She paused, snatching his tie from the bed. "It's your turn."

Reaching out for his collar, she pulled Tom a step closer and expertly knotted his tie, then smoothed his shirt down and adjusted the knot once more. The familiarity of her actions caught them both by surprise. Mary hurriedly spoiled the moment, too sleepy and nervous about her own feelings to ponder its implications. "That's better. Get the coats and we can go." She strode to the little table by the bed and grabbed her scarf, wrapping it over her face and perching her hat back on her head.

Tom stood by the door, holding out her coat. She let him help her into it before taking her case off the chair by the door. "Do you have the key?"

"Yes, but where's my hat?" He peered around the still-dim room.

"It's over there," Mary took it off the table and placed it delicately on his head at an appealing angle. "Now let's go before we remember anything else."

They rushed out the door and down the stairs. The clerk was snoring heavily, so Tom merely dropped the key on the desk before striding out with Mary into the early morning air.


	7. Chapter 7: Return

They spent the trip back home in familiar silence, quietly pondering the events of the night before. It was only on the final stretch up the driveway that Mary opened her unfamiliarly-un-lipsticked mouth.

"Do you think I should call Tony?" she asked, turning from the window to observe Tom's expression.

His lips thinned slightly. "Yes. Yes, I think you should."

"What am I to tell him that he could not assume from an empty bed this morning?" she dug her nails into the ledge along the car's door. "And how do you think he reacted when he woke up?"

"Tony may not have realized what it meant though. He seems a bit… vague, occasionally." Tom attempted to alleviate her anger.

"He was not so vague as to not attempt to manipulate me into marrying him!" Mary exclaimed, her temper rising again. "I still would not believe it, if it wasn't you who told me."

"It's nice to see my words mean so much to you." Tom said dryly. "But you should decide now- are you going to tear him to bits or try to break it off gently?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I suppose I'll break it off gently. I still have the information from you to attack him with if he persists." Mary sighed.

"That sounds like quite a plan." Tom commented, "I hope you have an equally good explanation for the family as to why you've come back from your painting trip a week early."

And with that, they pulled up to Downton, its elegant front washed in mid-afternoon sunlight.


	8. Chapter 8: Home

Mary made her excuses to the family at dinner that evening, claiming that Lady Portsmouth had fallen ill and the trip had to be cut short. "Thankfully, though, I ran into Tom while planning my return journey, and we simply came home together!" She smiled across the table at him, and he sent her a wink, unmissed by Violet who raised a suspicious eyebrow at Mary before taking a sip of water.

"What I don't understand," Edith interjected, "is how Lady Portsmouth fell ill in the first place! In my mind, she always had a remarkably strong constitution."

Mary glared back. "Are you implying that Lady Portsmouth feigned an illness just to get out of a little painting trip?" she questioned incredulously.

"Well, you never know." Edith said abashedly, and went back to her dinner, annoyance at her sister evident in every motion.

Mary cornered Tom after dinner. "I'm going to get up early tomorrow to make that call. Would you mind being my excuse for appearing at breakfast?"

"How does a tour of the estate sound?" he smiled.

"Perfectly splendid." Mary patted his arm absentmindedly. "Perhaps we ought to head to bed, as last night wasn't particularly restful."

"You're right, as always." He nodded, smile still locked pleasantly on his lips.

Mary smirked, gratified by his praise. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."


	9. Chapter 9: Breaking Up

They left in the middle of breakfast. Mary went to the telephone while Tom pulled the car around. She nervously twisted the wire around her finger as it rang.

"Yes?" Tony's voice came out the speaker, sounding annoyed.

"Tony, it's Mary," she said levelly, "and you're doubtless wondering where I went."

"I was concerned about you! Mary, what happened? Don't you love me?" Tony half-yelled, and Mary winced, holding the speaker away from her ear. _Quite a good decision on my part for doing it over the telephone instead of in person. _Mary thought.

"You don't love me, Tony! That's the problem!" She hissed.

"What?" Tony's voice quieted dangerously. "Of course I do."

"Three words, Tony. Mabel. Lane. Fox." Mary hung up the telephone with a click, smoke coming out her nose. She had intended to keep her head, and indeed it was quite out of character for her… but it felt so delicious. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she flounced out the door to where Tom awaited.


	10. Chapter 10: Unforeseen Circumstances

It had been nearly a month, and Tony's pestering was driving Mary mad. After her short call, Mary hoped he would give up, but Tony hounded her like a dog to a prized steak. Tom found it terribly amusing, despite his initial pleased comments on their drive. He had insisted on hearing the whole story, despite its brevity, and when she had said, "I hope that's the end of it," he replied with a, "I wouldn't be so sure about that!" Mary supposed Tom was right, as she threw yet another of Tony's bothersome letters on the fire. He certainly wasn't giving up easily.

The letter burned quickly, but Mary's gaze did not leave the fire. The man simply could not take rejection. Thankfully she did not love him—imagine discovering such a flaw after they were married! She shuddered at the thought. Tony had a nasty habit of appearing mysteriously wherever she went, and she got a letter every few days. Her excuse of Mabel Lane Fox only made him more persistent, and she wondered if maybe she should tell him the whole truth—but something told her that declaring him a scoundrel would only make him more defensive. As it was, he would have to move onto better prey eventually, as his coffers were surely running low. Mary had more pressing things to worry about.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. "Come in, Anna."

Anna tottered into the room, arms full of towels and new bed sheets. "I can make your bed later if like, my lady."

"No, it's fine. I need to speak to you." Mary sat down at her vanity. "You know that… thing I had you buy before my Liverpool trip?"

"Yes, my lady?" Anna said, lips pressed together. "I'm a bit nervous about having it in the house."

Mary drummed her fingers on the table, wondering how to phrase her question. "You don't suppose…" she spun around to face her. "What if it didn't work?"

"My lady!" Anna exclaimed. "It must have! Only…"

"What is it?" Mary tensed.

Anna dropped the sheets on the bed and hurried over to a tightly closed drawer. Pulling it open, she looked down at the contents, tapping a box quietly labelled in small print: _Kotex. _"You haven't used these since, my lady."

"Oh Lord." Mary ran a hand over her face. "I haven't been feeling quite like myself either."

"What are we going to do?" Anna asked, face paling.

"Well, I'm not going to marry him. Granny's been nearly as bad as Tony has, but even she won't convince me, no matter the scandal." Mary declared. "I suppose I could go to America-I'd really rather not, though. But what other option do I have?"

Anna came to stand next to her. "You could marry again; you have time before you start to show. And things could go wrong, as they often do."

"Yes, things… could go wrong." Mary tilted her head, considering her options. "I'll figure out something. I always do." She smiled, but Anna sensed that it was more of a dismissal than an honest display of feeling.

"I'll be back to dress you for dinner, my lady." She went to back out of the room.

"Say I'm ill. I need time to think. Come back at ten." Mary turned back to her vanity, fingers blindly playing with the frame containing a photograph of Matthew that sat there.

"Very well." Anna reached for the doorknob. "And my lady?"

"Yes?" Mary responded dully.

"I believe in you." Anna whispered, shutting the door silently behind her.

"Thank you." Mary mouthed to the empty air.


	11. Chapter 11: A Plan Comes To Mind

**Author's Note: **Who liked yesterday's twist, eh? *smirks* I've probably tipped the hand of the story, but never fear! I still have some tricks up my sleeve. ;) Enjoy!

At least Tony's coloring was not too dissimilar from her own, Mary pondered. The baby would look like a miniature version of herself, and that was easily excused. There was no question about whether or not she would have it, of course—no heir, no matter how he or she came into being, could be tossed aside when Mary knew all too well how easy it was to lose one. Oh, Matthew… He had not blamed her for her first affair, and she knew he would not begrudge her a second after his passing, but the feeling of having a second child that was not his stung her chilly heart. At least George would have a sibling. "There we go," Mary said under her breath, "positive thinking. Being defeatist is _so _middle-class." A smirk managed to twitch at the corners of her grimace. What were her options? Travel away for the birth? "No, entirely too suspicious." Move to America? "Absolutely not." Remarry it was, then. But to whom? Tony, as willing an applicant as he was, would simply not do. Evelyn—perhaps, though he was kind and loving as she could wish, he was twice as dull… Who else? She bit her lip, wondering.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. She lifted her head from her hands and glanced at the clock: seven-thirty. All afternoon she had spent weighing her options-and her feelings-and she had hardly gotten anywhere. With a sigh, she called out, "Anna, I said I wasn't coming down."

The door cracked open. "It's not Anna." A familiar voice stated.

"Tom!" Mary whirled around. "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Anna came by and told me you weren't coming to dinner; she thought I could cheer you up. Where she got that idea, I have no idea." His eyes twinkled with a grin.

"Oh, come on in." Mary pressed a hand to her forehead and waved him through the door. "I could do with come cheering up."

"Why, what's wrong?" the smile slid off his face and he came in, shutting the door behind.

"I would say everything, but that would be melodramatic." She slumped back. "I'm afraid I don't know how to say it."

"Is it about Tony? I know I tease you about him, but if he's bothering you I promise to do something about it." He said, face creased with worry.

"Yes, it is about him." Mary studied him, an idea springing to mind. "Why don't you sit down?" she unconsciously crossed her legs. _Now, _this_ is what I call a plan. _"You just might be able to do something."


	12. Chapter 12: A Proposal

**AN: **Sorry it's been awhile; I've come down with a cold :( Here you are at last!

~~Mary x Tom~~

"Well, what is it then?" Tom inquired, settling down on the edge of Mary's bed.

With a deep breath, she spat out her secret. "I'm pregnant."

He tensed immediately; then he leaned back against the bedpost. "That is a problem, but not an unbeatable one."

"You're not upset?" Mary observed him sharply.

"Why ever should I be?" He stared back with equal intent. "I swore never to judge you on that sort of thing, and I'm not about to start now, not when you need me!"

"No wonder Sybil was so in love with you. You're a noble man, Tom Branson." Mary bit her lip, gratified.

"I should certainly hope not!" he exclaimed jokingly, coaxing a small smile from her lips. Sobering, he went on. "What exactly do you want?"

"I'm not sure you'll like it," Mary said, standing up. "And you don't have to say yes. But it's the best I've got."

"You're not marrying that rogue, are you? Because I refuse to help there, after all I've already gone through." He raised an eyebrow.

"What do you take me for?" Mary said, affronted. "It's not _him _I'm thinking of marrying."

Tom picked up on her implication. "You mean… us, don't you?" he murmured.

All she could do was nod, holding her breath.

"Well," he exhaled. "I don't…" he ran his finders through his hair, thinking fast. "Looking at all the circumstances… I'll do it. It's better this way."

"Oh, _thank _you!" Mary rushed towards him and squeezed his hands tightly. "I just couldn't stand the thought of-" she broke off, gaze dropping to the floor.

"There are certain things that are too scandalous, even for this family." He patted her arm. "I know. And we're not so bad together, are we?"

"Not bad at all." She smiled up at him, confidence flooding back. Her future wasn't so dim after all.


	13. Chapter 13: Trust

"Now, how are we going to pull the wool over the family's eyes?" Tom questioned. They were splayed out on Mary's bed companionably, and when Mary turned to face him she found herself within an oddly tempting two centimeter's distance from his lips.

Inhaling sharply, she spoke tensely, "I've thought of that. We won't have to. We're going to elope."

"What!" he exclaimed, propping himself up on his elbow. "After all the talk of the scandal if Sybil and I eloped, you're willing to do that _now_? When you're already in trouble?" he gestured wildly at her stomach.

Mary pouted. "I resent that! It would've been a scandal because you were the chauffer then. As for now, it's a quiet wedding between two widowed companions finding comfort. Besides, weddings take ages to plan, and I would start to show by then, not to mention all the people who would try to talk us out of it."

"I suppose you're right." He collapsed back down into the pillows.

"Of course I am." She said smugly. "Now, I'd like to do it sometime this week, if possible. You must help me plan our escape."

"Can't we just drive off one day, say we're going to town?"

"Nonsense. It has to be somewhat romantic, or they will question us when we get back. A mysterious exeunt at dinner, notes on beds, car driving off loudly, that sort of thing."

"I hope you don't forget the trouble this will cause me," Tom grumbled, half-teasing. "Your father will be out for my blood, first for stealing yet another of his daughters and secondly for the scandal. And Catholics don't believe in divorce. I hope you're not ignoring that detail in your great plan."

Mary quieted, fidgeting nervously with her necklace. After a time, she whispered, "I know I'm asking a lot, but I won't apologize for it. I told Anna that I want to be as happy in my second marriage as I was in my first, and the fact that I'm marrying you out of convenience does not alter my original intentions. I want to be _happy _with you, Tom. Really, truly happy. Even if it's not romantic, or even if it isn't either of our first choice, I want it to be a real marriage. I will be married to you until _the day I die._" She peered up at his shocked eyes through a lock of hair.

"Oh, Mary…" he breathed dazedly.

"I _trust _you Tom, and that means more than you know."

He reached out and cupped her cheek. "I trust you too, and I wish you the very best. I hope I can make you happy."

She placed her hand over his. "You already have. Thank you." She closed her eyes, exhausted from her emotional confession.

He kissed her on the forehead, making her lips twitch upward slightly. "Get some rest."

"Come see me in the morning."

"I will."


End file.
